Taming the Alamo
by SassyJ
Summary: AU. Follows on from Just Tell Me. Stuart and Phil go undercover to investigate the dodgiest pub in London. Can they survive the pub and each other? Will Jo and Sam, and the rest of Sun Hill have to come to their rescue?
1. Chapter 1

_Dedicated to my fellow Huxon and Juart fans... the boys get to try and tame the worst bar in London, mayhem will ensue, taking in dodgy dealings involving greyhounds, diamonds, horse tranquillizers, cars and money. And the scariest loos in Britain! Will they need Sam and Jo to come to their rescue? With grateful thanks to Toby Keith for loving this bar, and Garth Brooks for having friends in low places..._

* * *

DI Iain Robertson surveyed the assembled ranks of Sun Hill's finest, CID and Uniform, as many as possible crammed into the one briefing. _They really have no idea... lambs to the slaughter, _he shivered, that was a really unfortunate choice of words. He looked across at Superintendent John Heaton, as the man was coming to the end of his part of the briefing. Heaton nodded to Robertson.

Robertson moved to the front. Pressed the remote, and a picture of an extremely ugly building appeared behind him on the wall.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the objective. The Slaughtered Lamb," he paused, "Welcome to hell!"

And that was one hell of an opener. The younger officers had sat up and taken notice. The older and more experienced ones were looking just a little skeptical.

Robertson stepped back slightly, "Since 2000 this place has had five different owners. The first, Josephine March, fell down the stairs in 2001, broke her neck, coroner found to be an accident. The second couple, John and Marina Davies left after three weeks, the third owner actually lasted for three years, disappeared one night in late December 2004, and has never been seen since, that was Jim Cowden. The place was empty for eighteen months after that. The new owners took over in June 2006, Jim and Freda Mason, they left after just fourteen months. Refused to say why, but according to the few locals we've talked to about it, they legged it as though the hounds of hell were after them." He paused again.

"Now we come to this little charmer," up onto the screen came a mugshot of a reasonably familiar face "Colin Fraser, local hard nut, old style criminal with a seriously violent history. Until last week, when he was found in the gents screaming his head off, shaking like a leaf, since then no one has been able to get any sense out of him. If you mention the pub, he starts screaming the place down, begging us to protect him. Unfortunately we have no idea what he wants protecting from."

Robertson looked round at his attentative and fairly skeptical audience, looked across at Heaton, "which brings us to the crunch, since this place is now your responsibility, and it currently has no owner/manager, we decided to put two people on the inside. DS Stuart Turner and DS Phil Hunter have agreed to go undercover as owner/managers. They needed to fit in with the delightful clientèle..."

Jack Meadows looked at his two Sergeants, who were trying to pretend that they weren't there. The pained look on Phil Hunter's face was a picture to beholdand Stuart had pulled the baseball cap down as far as he could manage, staring at the floor and wishing it would open up and swallow him whole, he'd foolishly mentioned that he had once owned a motorbike.

Jo glanced across at her lover's miserable expression. Stuart was seriously unhappy about this, even being partnered with Phil Hunter wasn't as bad as trying to pass himself off as a biker. She looked him over, _he actually looks good_, heavy duty black biker boots, washed out faded jeans, western check shirt with no sleeves, baseball cap, _even got the attitude..._ She checked out his new partner in crime, Phil. Phil looked, if anything, even more miserable than Stuart. Jo figured that the western shirt in a very loud multi-coloured stripe was probably an affront to his dignity, _very Garth Brooks_, she caught Sam's eye and their lips twitched, Jo had to look down at her hands to hide her laughter. Phil's _king of cool_ style was seriously under threat here.

Robertson was winding up his little homily and Jo tuned back in.

"... and the loos are supposed to be haunted."

* * *

"What if it's true?" Beth Green looked at Sally Armstrong and shivered. Sally rolled her eyes, sometimes Beth could be a little too credulous for her own good.

"Of course it isn't true..." Sally trailed off, her partner's attention was elsewhere, DI Neil Manson stood at the end of the corridor talking to Robertson, the guy who'd just filled Beth's head full of ghosties and ghoulies. Beth and Manson seemed to be looking at each other, and Sally wondered for a brief fanciful moment if there was anything between them. _Course there isn't, he's a DI, must be nearly twice her age, not to mention chilly and stuffy..._ but there was something in the look that his dark eyes were giving Beth that lent some credibility to Sally's fantastical thought.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of a deep voice behind her. "We don't have all day ladies, so if you please." Sergeant Callum Stone, the source of Sally's own confusion. Sometimes she felt close to Stone, sometimes he pushed her so far away that she felt she hated him, then came tragedy and they were thrown all of a kilter again. She'd fallen weeping into his arms, and found comfort there. But ever since he'd been more distant than ever. Sometimes Sally thought that he was made of the substance he was named for.

Sally glanced back over her shoulder and caught a fleeting look in his eyes, unguarded. A look of abject misery gone in a flash. Just as she was beginning to armour plate her heart against him, having finally convinced herself that he was just exactly what he appeared to be, a tough career cop not afraid to turn anything to his own advantage, he had to go and show her what was inside. Dumped her right back to square one again. _Shit._ To cover her confusion, she grabbed Beth by the stab vest and picked up her pace, ignoring Beth's wriggling and protests, pushed through the double doors at the end. _Anything to get away, before he sees me looking at him like a starving dog at a pork chop._

* * *

Stuart reluctantly took the baseball cap off and stuffed it one of the bulging panniers on the bike he'd been given. His protestations that his biking days were long over, and that he'd never ridden a chopper in his life before had fallen on deaf ears. Someone from the motorcycle division had shown him the basics and they'd driven round the back streets until he was getting the hang of it. Irritably aware that a fairly large crowd, including Phil, had gathered to see him off, he shrugged into his jacket and crammed the helmet on his head. Swung his leg over and sat down, flicked the key on and stamped on the starter. He was rewarded with the low powerful roar of a very large engine, _now to get out of the gate without making an idiot of myself._ He slipped the clutch and the bike slid smoothly forward, as he picked up speed he could see Phil grinning at him, Stuart had enough confidence to flip him the finger as he headed out to the road.

Stuart's easy rider exit from the car park didn't do much for Phil's psyche. He looked down at himself, he could just about live with the boots and the jeans were his own, but the shirt was giving him a fit, almost as much as knowing that all the rest of the clothes in his bag were every bit as bad, including a couple of Hawaiian shirts that Ken Drummond would have been proud of. At least no one had expected him to ride a motorbike. And the F250 he'd been given had a certain street cred. Phil climbed in, and set off after Stuart. _This is going to be a breeze._

* * *

Three quarters of an hour later, he wasn't so sure. They had been let in by the guy who was cleaning the place, who turned out to be one of Robertson's men on long term cover, a certainly weaselly individual who introduced himself as Don Tucker. By the time he'd shown them around, the pool tables, the space where the bands played, they were starting to wonder if they had bitten off slightly more than they could chew.

"The piece de resistance!" Don flung open the Gents' door, "decorated in serial killer hot pink, this would be where they found the last owner."

Stuart and Phil peered over his shoulder. Seeing the facilities they could almost understand how Colin Fraser had lost it. The pink colour combined with the harsh overhead lighting and the green floor tiles was enough to induce nausea in anyone.

"The whole idea is to keep people out of the toilets." Tucker explained "if they don't want to spend time in there, less likely to be drug deals going down in there. At least, that's the theory..." he looked at his watch, "good lord, is that the time...I have to get going... report back to Robertson." He handed the mop and bucket to Stuart. "You'll be fine. Just be quick."

Stuart was about to protest, but Tucker was gone before he could. He looked at Phil. "I'm not doing this..."

Phil smirked, "he handed it to you..."

"Toss you for it"

"No way."

"I'm not doing it..."

"Are you sure..." Phil reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. He'd kept this secret to himself for almost three months, since that night in hospital where without trying he'd struck the mother lode of office gold. He scrolled through the pictures and came to the one he'd been saving for just such an occasion. "What if ... I said that I wouldn't circulate this to the entire station if you do."

Stuart squinted at the picture, it was quite dark, but it was perfectly obvious who the two people in the picture were and just how intimate they were as well, _me __fast asleep in Jo's arms that night I begged her to stay_. "What the... How did you get that?" he scowled and made a grab for the phone, Phil jerked it out of reach.

"Ah ah ah, no way. And deleting won't do any good anyway, I've got a copy or two stashed away just in case." Stuart was fuming, but he knew he didn't have a lot of choice, do the loos or the whole station would become privy to his and Jo's private life.

"How did you get that anyway?" he grumbled.

Phil grinned. "The night nurse came round at 3 am, got her to take a few shots for posterity.." He winked at Stuart and handed over the Jeyes fluid. Stuart snatched it from his hand and pushed the bucket into the Gents.

"Don't forget to do in all the corners" Phil just couldn't keep the gloating out of his voice, this one was set to run and run and never get old.

Stuart scowled irritably, his mind turning over ways of getting his own back ... _if Phil already knows, Jo and I can have a little fun and he can't give us away without losing his advantage... you're not the only one who can plan Detective Sergeant Philip Hunter..._ He smiled. _I'll play along for now._


	2. The Slaughtered Lamb

_Dedicated to SaMaNdPhiL4eVeR, S-Nixon, Gem6, Pink Lemons and mrs-stuart-turner... with a special little bit for mrs-stuart-turner and I'm sure she can work out what and why! ;)_

* * *

There were bikers... lots of bikers ... some Country and Western types, several local hard nuts, even the girls were a bit on the rough side; and neither Phil nor Stuart had dreamed that running a bar would be this tough. Taking orders, pulling pints, adding up orders while serving, mopping up spills, emptying spill trays into a large jug under the bar, collecting glasses, loading and unloading the dishwasher, they were both exhausted, and there was still the traditional lock in card game to go.

As Phil yanked the latest tray of clean glasses out of the dishwasher, he wondered if Jack Meadows had decided that he and his fellow Sergeant needed some kind of obtuse lesson. _Nah, you're just tired mate...Jack Meadows doesn't operate like that._

"Hurry up with those glasses..." Stuart appeared in the doorway behind him, "thirsty people out here..." he reached for the mop and bucket, and scowled at his partner.

Phil grinned. "Not again..."

"Oh yes." Stuart managed to invest the two words with a wealth of sarcasm. Phil's grin widened, one unanticipated feature of the vile decorating scheme in the loos was the number of patrons who threw up almost instantly on entry. Phil wondered how much more mileage he could get out of the pictures on his phone.

He dumped the glasses down and turned to serve the queue of customers.

* * *

The alarm was shrill in his ear, Stuart reached out and swatted at it with his hand, dimly aware that Jo would be round sometime soon. He rolled over, slowly, he hadn't felt this rough since his student days. His hand encountered something soft, puzzled, he peeled back an eyelid.

"What the..." He sat up fast, which was definitely a mistake, undecided which was worse, the trolls with sledgehammers running round inside his brain, or the malevolent troll tying knots in his stomach. He stared at the greyhound, and the greyhound stared back, then flopped down on its side and presented its tummy to be scratched. Absently Stuart rubbed his hand along its belly, and the animal gave a sigh of contentment.

Stuart tried to gather his scattered wits. He was pretty sure that yesterday there was no dog in his life. His wallet lay open on the bed next to him, and a substantial wad of money was sticking haphazardly out of it. It had to be close to five hundred quid, and again Stuart wondered just what exactly had happened, because he was certain that he'd had around eighty quid in notes.

He'd clearly just fallen across the bed fully clothed, because he was still wearing what he'd had on the day before, with a groan, Stuart got to his feet _shower, change, then try and work out what the hell is going on..._ He stripped his clothes off, grabbed a towel and headed to the shower, the click of toenails on lino told him that the dog was following.

He stood under the blast of the shower, replaying the bits he could remember... which wasn't a lot. The bathroom door creaked open and Phil wandered in.

"After you, mate."

Stuart glared, "What do you know about that?" he waved a finger at the dog, patiently waiting for him.

Phil grinned, _this is just sooooo great..._

"Stuart, mate, you are a wild man when you're drunk." he spread his hands in a passable semblance of a gesture of innocence, "you beat us all at cards last night, and the greyhound was part of the deal."

"I had one beer last night. One." Stuart held up a finger for emphasis, "how could I be drunk on one beer..."

"On one beer, no... but the double vodka I slipped in with the beer...and then you had another beer..."

"Philip... I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you..." Stuart climbed out of the shower, sopping wet, and gave chase.

Phil didn't wait around, Stuart looked mad enough to kill him, so he legged it down the stairs, and Stuart caught up with him in the bar... swung him round and was just about to let fly when a knock sounded at the door.

Phil backed away... "Stu, the door..." Stuart took a menacing step towards him... and Phil legged it back up the stairs.

Stuart was about to follow him when the person at the door knocked again, "Stuart? Phil?"

Jo's voice. Stuart forgot his current state of undress and reached for the key, unlocking the door and pulling it wide.

Jo looked startled, then stepped forward into his arms. He pulled her as close to him as possible, burying his face in her neck and she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him back.

* * *

Across the street, Neil lowered the binoculars, "that's a view I'd rather I hadn't had" he remarked to Jack Meadows.

Meadows stared across the street at the doorway, Stuart and Jo were clearly framed in the open door, and it was also perfectly obvious even without binoculars, that Stuart didn't have much on. They were supposed to be playing the loved up couple, so Jack was not particularly surprised at the passionate clinch, but a little startled at the length of it. _Stuart and Jo..._ he wondered for the fifth time that week, he shook his head, _impossible._

Jo pushed the door shut without letting go of her lover and slid a hand into his wet hair, and then their lips met...

Coming up for air a few moments later, Jo took a moment to wonder why he was soaking wet and stark naked, he was also starting to shiver with cold. "Come on, hun." She nodded her head towards the stairs, "you need to dry off and I could use a coffee." He made a reluctant noise deep in his throat, but let go, taking her hand, led her up the stairs to his room.

Ten minutes later, Jo carried the two coffees down to Stuart's room, along with a glass of water. She had a hangover cure in her bag, and by the looks of him, he could really use it. He was dressed, sleeveless shirt and jeans again, his hair towel dried and sticking up all over. She put the tray down on the bedside table, and reached for her bag. Stuart grabbed her other hand and tugged her down until she was sitting on his lap.

"I've missed you." he murmured, gently stroking her hair back from her face. Jo put her hand up to his cheek, "and I've missed you, so have Mai... and Carol." Their bizarre three cornered relationship worked in ways which surprised them all. His little foster daughter, Mai, just took it all in her stride.

Jo stood up, "come on, we need to get ready... you open in less than an hour."

Very reluctantly, Stuart got to his feet, the dog followed. Puzzled Jo looked at him, "Stuart, where did you get the dog from..."

"A long story" Stuart sighed, "apparently I won him at cards last night." He bent down to check the disk attached to the collar, hoping for some further information. Just the name "Reg" was etched into the small disk. "Pleased to meet you, Reg." The greyhound looked up at him and licked its lips expectantly.

"Stuart, he's hungry. Is there any food for him in this place?" Jo fondled the floppy ears, and the animal moved closer, leaning up against her leg.

"Only Phil's idea of breakfast." Unaccountably, Stuart started to feel hungry at the thought.

Jo took pity, she knew he was a horrible cook. "I'll fix you both something."

* * *

Phil grumpily loaded the dishwasher for the fifth time that morning, Jo and Stuart were working a great double act behind the bar, Jo had established good relations with some of the bikers, and Stuart had played along, all of which left Phil picking up the slack. _This isn't working out quite as I planned it._


	3. Things that go Bump in the night

_It was all too quiet..._

* * *

One am and the last load had been taken out of the dishwasher, the bar towels were whirling through the cycle in the washing machine and they'd finished mopping the floor, Jo was upstairs fixing them all a late night snack, so they knew they were alone.

At first the noise barely registered, it had been a very long day, but then the strange groaning noise penetrated. They stared at each other, and Phil reached down behind the bar and pulled out the baseball bat stashed on the bottom shelf. Cautiously they approached the source of the noise, threw the toilet door wide, and...nothing but a far off rumble.

"The plumbing?" Stuart offered.

"Probably." Phil was more spooked than he cared to admit. He clutched the baseball bat a little tighter.

The hairs were standing up on the back of Stuart's neck, but he had no intention of admitting that to Phil. The nudge of a cold nose against his hand made him jump, he spun round, "some guard dog..." Reg looked up at him and twitched his tail. Stuart sighed, "I suppose you want a run outside, don't you?" The tail twitched again. "I need to let him out..."

Phil was still staring in the direction that the noise had come from. "yeah... mate."

* * *

Stuart shifted from foot to foot waiting for Reg to finish nosing around in the bushes at the back of the car park. "Come on, come on... it's freezing out here."

At last the dog finished, and followed him back into the pub. The bar area was deserted and suddenly Stuart had that spooked feeling again. The baseball bat was lying on the floor, and as Stuart bent to pick it up, he saw a foot sticking out from behind the bar.

"Phil?" Stuart stepped round the end of the bar, Phil was lying face down on the floor, unmoving. Quickly Stuart bent over his colleague, reaching for the pulse in Phil's neck, and was relieved to find a strong steady beat. There was a slight lump behind his right ear.

"JO." Stuart yelled up the stairs, torn between leaving Phil on his own and the need to know that Jo was okay.

"What..." she appeared at the top of the stairs, "oh god..." She came running down, and bent over Phil, who was starting to show signs of life.

Phil screwed his eyes tight shut, _god that hurts,_ aware that his colleagues were bent over him, he made a valiant effort to get up from the floor. Stuart and Jo slid their arms under his armpits and helped him into a sitting position while he tried to open his eyes. Spots danced in jangling patterns and he screwed his eyes closed again, leaning heavily against Jo.

"Stuart, get me a cold damp towel..." Jo waved her hand at the sink area, and Stuart got to his feet, running the cold tap and putting one of the bar towels under it, wringing it out he handed it to Jo. She gently pushed Phil's head to one side so that she could press the cold towel to the nasty bruise behind his right ear.

Stuart crouched down in front of his partner, "what happened."

"Don't really know... one minute you'd gone out the front door, next minute there was a noise over in the corner," he waved a vague hand, "I turned round and someone hit me."

"Someone?"

"I heard footsteps." Phil winced, the bruise on the back of his head really hurt. "But they came from behind me..."

Stuart wondered just how hard the bang on his head had been, as Phil indicated the direction of the gents.

"Phil, mate... that's the loos." Stuart tried to break it gently. "we both know there was no one in the loos, because I cleared them out."

"Telling you... that's where the footsteps came from." Phil decided to try and get to his feet, although he was starting to feel quite comfortable leaning against Jo. That was territory he wasn't going to mess with, he was fond of Jo, she made him laugh and even winding Stuart up took second place to hurting someone he knew he could count on as a true friend.

"We should take you to St Hugh's." Jo looked worried, that was quite a bump. Phil was about to disagree, but then he stood upright, and it was only Stuart and Jo's fast reactions which prevented him hitting the floor again.

Stuart drove, a miserable Reg hunched up and shivering in the passenger footwell, while Jo supported a wilting Phil in the backseat of the pickup's double cab. As they pulled into the hospital car park, Reg threw up on the front seat.

Deciding that now was not the time to mention the dog's indiscretion to Phil, Stuart went round to the passenger side, and supported Phil while Jo went into A&E. It was an uncharacteristically quiet night, and as it was a head injury, they were seen almost immediately. The verdict was a mild concussion, with an icepack for the bruise and instructions to get some rest, Phil and his weary colleagues headed back to the truck.

Phil yanked the passenger side door open, and stared in horror at the shivering dog and the mess on the seat. "Oh nice... very nice."

"He's a dog, Phil. He doesn't understand and I'll clear it up, okay." Stuart was tired and so he snapped at Phil. Jo had had enough, "boys, it's three in the morning, I'm tired. I want my bed. I am not in the mood for another one of your rows," she gently pushed Phil in the direction of the backseat, "so get in and shut up." They both subsided, glaring at each other and muttering under their breath, but as long as they did as they were told, Jo didn't care about the glaring and the muttering. She leaned back in the comfortable seat, idly watching Stuart in the rear view mirror, and wondering what he was going to say about the two little pictures that were still burning a hole in the bottom of her bag. _Our first scans_, she put a protective hand over her only slightly curved stomach, Jack knew about her pregnancy of course, but didn't know who the father was, Sam knew both about the pregnancy and the paternity, and as far as she was aware none of the rest of the station knew.

_Jack Meadows did not want me on this operation,_ but she had begged and pleaded, and since she was only support and liaison, Jack had agreed. But he and Neil would be keeping strict tabs on what was going on.

Which left Sam somewhat out in the cold. Jo sighed. Samantha Nixon, DI and supercop, was the closest thing she had to a truly trustworthy female friend at Sun Hill. They'd known each other a long time, had been through a lot of things together one way or another, knew more about each other than they would often care to think about, and Jo knew Sam's deadliest secret. That a certain Detective Sergeant Philip Hunter rocked her world, and Sam was determined not to give in to that.

That Sam loved him with all her heart, Jo had no doubt of, that Sam was determined to protect herself from Phil's wild behaviour was also not in doubt. To the extent that Sam had clearly not noticed that Phil didn't engage in wild behaviour when Sam was the centre and bound of his universe.

All of which lead neatly to the current largest problem of all. This operation. Jo hadn't really believed all the guff that DI Robertson had talked about in the briefing. It was all too vague and impossibly far fetched. But that someone knocked Phil out like that, well that put a completely different slant on matters and that worried Jo. Phil could have been seriously hurt. And putting Phil and Stuart together on this was perhaps not the best idea, as their competitive natures sparked off each other. They both had a tendency to feel bullet proof and inclined to take risks when trying to win. Jo loved both of them in very different ways, Stuart was her unlikely soulmate, and Phil was basically just Phil, lovable rogue male, and she didn't want either of them to get hurt.

Jo made a mental note to herself to call Sam as soon as she could. Sam would want to know that Phil had been hurt.

They arrived back at the pub, and despite Phil's protestations that he was perfectly capable of getting up the stairs, helped him up the stairs, Jo stayed with him until he was in bed, and then joined Stuart in fitful sleep in the other bedroom.


	4. Stone Walled

_In which Jack decides he needs to up the ante and give the undercover team a certain whiff of credibility as local bad boys..._

* * *

"We need to raise the stakes a little." Jack Meadows looked across at his DI, waiting for some comment. Neil nodded. "What do you suggest?" he asked Meadows.

"Since we're trying to establish their credentials as dodgy dealers, I think it's about time that one or other of them was arrested for something." Jack had already run this by Gina and she had agreed to lend them Callum Stone and a PC to do the deed.

Jack Meadows found Stone and Beth Green in the corridor, "Callum, go and arrest either Stuart or Phil."

"What for?"

"Think of something on the way."

Callum walked out to the car, he had a pretty good idea of what he was going to do, after all, it didn't have to be either a serious or a real crime, just as long as one or other of the two Sergeants wound up in the cells. He smiled grimly. _I'm going to enjoy this._

Beth trailed along somewhat reluctantly. She'd seen the light of battle in Stone's eyes, and since the recent tragedy, he'd shut down. Now no one got close. He seemed tightly wound and Beth felt nervous for some unaccountable reason.

* * *

It was eleven thirty, and the bar was filling up with bikers heading for the weekend. Phil was struggling, but stubbornly refused to give up and go back to bed. Stuart had cleaned out the ladies and was just finishing the gents when Callum Stone and Beth Green walked in.

It was simple, Phil was behind the bar and not immediately accessible, Stuart was just coming out of the gents and easily isolated. Callum picked Stuart.

"A word, please, sir." Stone's tone was that particular blend of moral high ground and sarcasm which flicked many a crook on the raw, but this was a special occasion. Stuart glanced across at Phil, _damn this has come at a really bad time,_ he started to back up and tried to impart the problem to Callum, but Callum had a job to do and he wasn't listening.

Stuart put a hand up to try and remonstrate with Callum, the big sergeant grabbed his right wrist and spun him round. Stuart tried to push back, but with Callum's superior weight bearing his arm halfway up his back, it was fairly easy for Callum to pin him against the wall. Stuart struggled a moment, but Callum shifted his weight slightly. Stuart's right arm had taken quite a battering over the last six months, first he'd broken his shoulder, then he'd been stabbed, with the sudden increase in weight forcing his right arm up his back, he felt something twang in his elbow.

"Stuart." Jo's voice behind him, slightly wobbly, her fear for him evident to his ears. He stopped struggling, upsetting Jo was not part of the deal, he'd go along with this, but he was going to have a sharp word with Neil or Sam. He allowed Callum to snap the handcuffs on, and allowed himself to be led out, hands cuffed behind his back, and stuffed in the back of the car. Jo followed to the door of the pub, and Stuart looked back at her, and just a second he knew exactly how it felt to be on the receiving end. That wasn't a particularly pleasant revelation.

Reg followed, Stuart looked up at Beth, "he wants to come too," knowing that the young PC had a soft heart. Beth nodded, and let the dog slip in.

_I'll make it up to her later, _Stuart promised himself. Sure enough, they were halfway back to Sun Hill before the unmistakable sounds of dog retching announced themselves from the back seat.

"Nice." Callum looked in the rear view mirror. Stuart tried to keep his face straight, "he's a dog, and he gets car sick, what can I say?"

Unseen by her sergeant, Beth's lips twitched. Even though Stuart had conned her into bringing the dog along, she could appreciate the small element of revenge.

Even that small payback wasn't really a help, because Stuart was feeling considerable discomfort, every jolt seemed to shoot straight up his right arm, and by the time they arrived at Sun Hill his elbow was throbbing with the strain of being held in such an awkward position. Callum pulled up in the parking space, and Beth helped Stuart out of the back seat, when she tugged on his right arm he yelped. "Shit." He screwed his eyes shut _damn that's sore..._ then regretted it, because when he opened his eyes and saw Beth's horrified and concerned face, he realised he'd just taken it out on her again.

"Are you alright?" her voice held that slightly quavery tone of distress and he felt guilty.

"I'm fine." he moved to reassure her, without being too obvious about it, "look, it isn't your fault, I resisted and Callum's stronger than he looks..." trying to make some kind of joke.

That even eight months ago, Stuart would not have been that concerned or caring of a very junior PC's feelings didn't occur to him, or that Beth was surprised to find the rather arrogant Sergeant a lot kinder than she had ever suspected. So much had changed for Stuart in the last year, he didn't even realise how much he had changed himself.

As they walked up the ramp towards Custody, Stuart wondered how he was going to get turned around and back to the bar as soon as possible. But when Beth moved behind him to remove the cuffs, he realised he had a slightly more pressing problem. His elbow was killing him, but when Smithy told him to turn out his pockets, Stuart remembered something that he'd completely forgotten in the rush. The copy of the scan Jo had given him. It was in his back pocket with his wallet.

Hurriedly, Stuart tried to remember if anything identified the scan as belonging to Jo and himself. Having the details of their private lives and the baby splashed round the station before either of them were ready filled him with horror. Hoping he could pull his wallet out without pulling the scan out with it, he reached back awkwardly and tugged his wallet out. Unfortunately, the scan came too and fluttered to the floor.

Callum Stone bent to pick it up, glanced at it, saw what it was and was about to say something when he clocked Stuart's pleading gaze. Whatever crack he had been about to make, died then and there. Stone frowned, as far as he knew Stuart Turner was single, and currently without a girlfriend. For a few moments, he pondered the interaction between DS Turner and DC Masters as he was dragging Stuart out of the pub. He shook his head. _Stuart and Jo? Impossible?_

* * *

Sam Nixon pulled up outside the bar. She'd been horrified when Jo had rung her to tell her that Phil had been hurt.

She looked across the street, steeling herself to go in and act as normally as possible. Even though she was very worried about him, maintaining her distance from her lovable rogue was important. She was about to get out of the car when Callum Stone and Beth pulled up in front.

Sam stayed where she was. Getting in the way of whatever was going on would not be a good thing, and they could not afford to blow this.

A few minutes later, Stone and Beth reappeared, escorting a handcuffed Stuart to the car, even across the street, Sam could see the stress on Jo's face as she stood in the doorway of the pub, watching them drive him away. Knowing that Jack and Neil couldn't possibly yet know about the events of the night before, Sam still felt angry. The three of them had been through quite a lot in the last twelve hours, and if Phil was as unwell as Jo had indicated, the strain of coping without Stuart's support would be hard.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, Sam got out of the car and crossed the street. She took a deep breath and pushed the pub door open. He was there in front of her, and Jo had been right, he didn't look well at all.

"Sam?" She turned slightly, Jo was coming towards her, looking quite shaky _given the night that she's just had, that's no surprise._ She hugged her friend quite spontaneously, even though it occurred to her that she was establishing her own connection to the case in doing so. Jo looked almost tearful, which was not at all like Jo, and Sam wondered if the combination of hormonal imbalance and the stress of what was obviously a dangerous case was going to be too much.

"Jo, honey, how are you?" The concern in Sam's voice was not for the benefit of the clientèle.

"Not great. No sleep, Phil's had a bang on the head, and they arrested my Stuart." Jo was doing a passable impression of small time crim's girlfriend, even if the information she was imparting was the literal truth.

Sam looked at Phil, hating the shuttered expression as he closed her out. True she'd left him, and true they were finished because she couldn't see a way back into love, but that didn't stop her heart turning over even as she accepted the truth of the matter.

Until Samantha Nixon had walked in through that door, Phil had been coping. Just. His head hurt, he felt sick and very, very tired, but he could just about maintain control. Sam walked in and it was busted all to pieces again. Wanting her, needing her and not being able to have her were tearing him apart. Then one of the customers caught his attention and he turned to serve the man.

Jo drew Sam behind the bar and into the backroom where the dishwasher was.

"He's a lot worse than he'll admit." she whispered. "We wanted him to stay in bed this morning and only get up later on, but he insisted he was fine."

* * *

Stuart cradled his right elbow on the icepack he'd been given, and briefed the rest of the team on what had been going on, carefully omitting the outcome of the card game. He looked at Neil and Jack Meadows, relieved that there was no sign of Robertson.

"What about the clientèle?" Neil was asking.

"Bikers. Big, hairy, dirty, noisy, nasty bikers. Completely harmless." Stuart sighed, _okay, not that harmless,_ in two days they'd broken up three fights. "But something is going on." Briefly he outlined last night's events "...which is why I need to get back there as soon as possible."

Jack Meadows looked at his Sergeant, still cradling the ice pack against his elbow. "Are you sure? I can pull you two out if it's getting dangerous."

"Danger from what?" Stuart spread his hands wide, then wished he hadn't. The FME had strapped his elbow and then told him to ice and rest his arm as much as possible. "Look guv, we don't know what it is that's going on, only that something is. Phil and I have searched every inch of that pub, and we haven't found anything, yet. Pull us out, and we never will." He desperately wanted to solve the case, Stuart hadn't changed that much...

Jack gave in. "Any more incidents, and we come in mob handed and tear the place apart completely."

Stuart nodded, pleased to have the tiny victory. Something nudged against his leg. Reg was leaning against him. "Can we get a lift back to the Lamb?"

"After last time?" Callum Stone scowled. "He's sick again, I personally will have him stuffed."

Stuart grinned.


	5. Nice Darts

_One more incident, Sam, and I'm pulling the plug._ Sam listened to Jack's voice on the phone with barely half her attention. The rest was taken up with Philip Hunter. He was leaning moodily on the bar, which Sam knew was an act. He was tired, in pain and feeling thoroughly seedy, and since she'd tried to get him to go upstairs and rest, he'd gone into avoidance mode.

_Sam?_ Sam turned her attention back to her telephone call.

"Sorry. Someone wanted a drink." She fibbed to Jack, hearing the concern in his voice.

_Take this down. Mickey and Terry found a link to an old diamond robbery about eight or nine years ago. And one of the suspects was Jim Cowden._

"The missing owner?" Sam paid attention. "I wonder why Robertson never mentioned that little wrinkle?"

_We wondered too._ Jack paused. _Take care, Sam. Everyone has a bad feeling about this._

"I will." Sam muttered. "We all will." She rang off. It was nearly closing time, only a few hardened drinkers were left. Some of Stuart and Jo's noisy biker "friends", a few late nighters and an old bloke who never said a word, arrived at opening time and left at closing time when either Stuart or Phil had poured him into a taxi.

Sam looked across at Stuart and Jo, and tried to get it all straight in her head. They were supposed to be playing the part of a loved up couple, and it was a really convincing act, except it wasn't an act, it was the literal truth. And that was really messing with Sam's mind. She watched them now, sharing a stool, Jo leaning against him, her head resting against his shoulder, she had one arm round his waist, and he'd captured her hand there with his free hand, the other being occupied with the hand of cards that he held. Together they'd dumped their defenses for good, completely at ease with each other. In some ways it was almost painful for Sam.

At one time, she'd thought she'd loved Stuart. But she'd never reached in and found the key to unlock the man that he truly was. And Jo ... she'd been friends with Jo forever. Admiring her control, her no nonsense ways, her insight, but she'd never really unlocked the door to the softer more playful Jo, the one that was leaning lovingly against Stuart.

"TIME GENTLEMEN PLEASE!" Phil roared above the usual racket.

Stuart got to his feet, pulling Jo with him. "Yes, guys, it's definitely bed time." Sam scowled when he and Jo exchanged a kiss, _Stuart you ham, that was so corny._ The bikers were falling for it though, several of them slapped him on the back on their way out.

Phil steered their silent drinker out into the night, and the taxi that pulled up outside. The night air filled briefly with the roar of bike engines, which faded rapidly into the distance. And it was just the four of them again.

* * *

Stuart stood in the car park, shifting from foot to foot, it was very cold at one in the morning. "Come on Reg, if you don't hurry up I'll leave you out all night." The dog was rooting around under the bushes at the back of the car park. He stopped rooting and Stuart could hear the sounds of chewing. _Shit_. Stuart made a dive, too late. "Reg, drop that." He grabbed the meat and pulled it away from the dog. "You don't know what's in it..."

He trailed off as he realised that there must have been something in the meat, Reg was wobbling, his back legs didn't seem to want to support him anymore. _Damn._ Stuart bent down and scooped the wobbly dog into his arms, staggering under the weight.

"Jo... Phil... someone, we need a vet!" he shoved back through the pub doors...

* * *

Jo drove, Sam directed, and Phil and Stuart sat in the back and held the fading dog on their knees, even when the motion caused Reg to vomit all down Stuart's leg, Phil was too stressed to shout about it. Stuart just sat and held on to the drooping animal, he wasn't big on prayers, but right then he could have used a couple. The dog was an unexpected addition, and he'd kind of grown on Stuart.

"Nearly there..." Sam looked up from the directions, "the vet said he would meet us here." She looked round behind her, "apparently he's been out dealing with a stray pony."

Jo swung the truck into a drive, and the headlights picked out a large man carrying what looked like an air rifle slung over one arm. He waved them down, "Park over there and follow me."

They trooped after the vet, Stuart carrying the ailing dog, laying him on the vet's table. Morrison laid the rifle down on the side, and bent over the dog. He sniffed. "Strange smell..." pulled the eyelid down, tested the reflex, lifted the lip and looked at the gums, while Stuart fidgeted. "You say he was sick?"

"Yes." Stuart indicated the state of his jeans. "He always throws up in the car."

"Good thing too. Cleared his system. I'll give him a shot of something and keep him overnight. He'll sleep it off and we'll keep a check on him..." he looked up, "he should be fine Mr er?"

"Turner. Stuart Turner." Stuart replied "I'll leave you my number." and was about to fish out a card from his wallet when he remembered he was supposed to be Stuart Turner, slightly dodgy publican and not Stuart Turner, Detective Sergeant with the Met. "I'll write it down."

While Stuart was leaving his number for the vet, Phil was starting to feel decidedly nauseated again. The vet was saying something about the likely cause, and Phil put his hand down to lean against the bench.

Several things happened almost simultaneously. There was a sharp flat crack and a loud hiss... Sam and Jo both yelled his name, "PHIL!!" and Stuart turned round to see what the fuss was about, which was the point at which Phil realised he'd just shot Stuart in the leg with a tranquillizer dart. Morrison and Jo stepped forward and Jo caught Stuart as Morrison pulled the dart out of his leg. Stuart's eyes rolled back in his head as he slipped bonelessly to the floor, taking Jo down with him through sheer weight alone.

"No, Stuart... not again, not now...please" Jo cradled him in her arms, and patted his cheek. "Dammit, this is turning into quite a habit." She glared at Phil.

"It was an accident!" Phil looked desperate. Both Sam and Jo were glaring at him. Morrison was bent over the unconscious Stuart.

"He'll be fine. I'll give him a shot of this, take him home, put him to bed and he should wake up in the next couple of hours. Wouldn't be a bad thing if you had a doctor take a look just to be on the safe side, but otherwise he'll be fine."

* * *

Sam drove. In stony silence. Phil sulked in the seat next to her. _It was an accident._ The accusatory looks from Sam had been a bit too much to take, after all, he didn't particularly like Stuart, but he didn't intend him any real harm.

Phil looked back to Jo, still cuddling Stuart, and trying to wake him. Jo looked almost tearful and Phil felt really guilty.

"He'll be fine." he said gruffly, by way of an apology.

It didn't come out quite the way he'd intended.

"Phil," Jo snapped at him, "He's not fine. Stuart is far from fine, he's UNCONSCIOUS!"

"Phil, it wouldn't kill you to look before you leap..." Sam added her irritated penny's worth to the conversation and that was definitely too much.

"I didn't intend to shoot Stuart in the leg, I was tired and I just put my hand down on the bench." Phil growled out through gritted teeth, "I'm willing to bet that when he comes round, he'll see it as an accident too." He felt really hurt by Sam's words.

When they pulled into the car park, and it was time to help get Stuart up the stairs and into bed, it was a somewhat different matter. Phil realised that Stuart wasn't just a bit woozy, he was out cold, completely limp and senseless. And Phil started to worry, what if he had done Stuart some permanent harm?

"I'm sorry." He said to Jo, as they struggled to manhandle Stuart up the stairs.

Jo looked straight at him, as they heaved Stuart across the bed. "It isn't me who needs to hear that." she bent over Stuart, unbuttoning his shirt, "since you're here you can give me a hand."

Never one to shrink away from telling it exactly the way it was, Jo decided it was about time that Philip Hunter listened to a few home and away truths about himself, his relationship with Sam, and his cockeyed and competitive relationship with the man they were struggling to undress, Stuart Turner.

"Phil, that's just what drives us all crazy about you, and Stuart." Jo didn't mince her words. "You do things, other things happen, sometimes those other things turn out really badly then you're sorry. Until it happens again."

Phil opened his mouth to argue with her. But Jo's steely eyed gaze made him shut up before he'd even thought about what to say. "Neither of you ever seem to learn. Until recently I thought Stuart was just going to keep on making the same mistakes forever." She slid up onto the bed, and pulled Stuart into her arms, as Phil struggled to drag Stuart's jeans off. "He's a good man, and a good police officer, if only he'd let himself be. Which brings us back to you, Phil."

He looked into her eyes, and couldn't look away, even though he badly wanted to. "You have so much to give, and you're a good officer, why don't you just let yourself be. All that cock of the walk stuff. It doesn't make you a bad boy, it just makes it difficult for the rest of us to be around you."

She pinned him with her gaze "You said to Sam that no one trusts a lone wolf, well the lone wolf isn't the problem, the loose cannon is. And Sam can't be with a loose cannon."

Jo paused, this wasn't her secret, but she would never have another opportunity quite like this. "Sam loves you. She knows it all, the good, the bad and the frankly very ugly, but she still loves you. If you love her, and I think you do, show her that you can learn. Learn and move on. Because if you don't, you're both going to end up lonely and that would be the real shame."

Phil swallowed. Jo always cut to the chase. And she was right. "Jo, I..." he struggled to find the right words, "tell him I'm sorry." He finished. _Lame, Phil, really lame._

"You had better tell him that yourself." Jo settled herself against the headboard of the bed, and eased Stuart into a more comfortable position. "Sam's downstairs, go and make some of it up to her."

"How."

"I can't believe it. Philip Hunter, your exploits with the ladies are the stuff of legend," now she was teasing him, "think of something on the way."

* * *

He descended the stairs slowly. Thinking of something on the way wasn't as easy as it sounded upstairs. She was sitting alone at a small table. Her phone lying in front of her. She'd poured herself something and it sat on the table next to her.

She looked up at him as he approached. "Jack Meadows said to me, one more incident and we pull the plug. I'm sitting here thinking of all the reasons why I should be pulling the plug right now. Before either you or Stuart gets seriously hurt." Her voice cracked, "tell me a good reason why I haven't phoned him."

Phil sat down, and took her hand. Jo was right. He was going to have to dig himself out of a very serious hole. "Because what happened was completely unintentional, a freak accident, and it doesn't really have anything to do with the case. It was an incidental side effect."

"Not exactly reassuring."

"It wasn't meant to be." He leaned forward, his head hurt, he was distinctly punchy from lack of sleep, and he'd completely lost his way, but he needed her, and he needed her to understand that this was no longer about being the rogue male, the maverick cop, coming out on top in his never ending battle with Stuart for top dog position. "Sam, what happened tonight was another attempt to get us out of here. Think about it. Why? What is so special about this place?"

"Well, I had wondered." And she outlined what Jack had said about Cowden.

"Which proves what Stuart thinks."

Sam stared. "I didn't know that Stuart thought anything about this place."

"Not this place. Robertson." She was now seriously confused, and he tried to explain "Stuart thinks there's something odd about Robertson. He doesn't want the guy around."

"And what possible evidence does he have for that?" Sam looked skeptical.

"None." Phil admitted. "But I think he's right. Look, we've only been here three days."

"And in three days, you've been hit over the head, someone's poisoned the dog, and Stuart's been shot in the backside with a tranquillizer dart." Sam scowled, to keep from tearing up, "If you can manage all that in three days, I shudder to think what will happen if you're here for a week."

"Just give us a chance." Phil was pleading, and he really hated begging her when she was this vulnerable, "we really need this." For a second he wasn't sure if he was pleading for himself and Stuart to crack the case, or for his messed up relationship with Sam.

Sam looked down at her phone, she really should pull them out. But Phil's conviction was hard to shake. He took her hand. And suddenly, nothing else mattered. She couldn't and didn't want to fight him any more. She loved Phil Hunter. It was almost four in the morning and there was no fight left to have, they were just two tired and damaged people seeking shelter. She allowed him to pull her to her feet, and followed him slowly up the stairs.

They undressed slowly and slid into bed. Sam cuddled close, resting her head against Phil's shoulder, leaning into him, breathing in the scent of his skin, drawing on the warmth that surrounded her as his arms closed round her. He pulled the covers up over both of them and just held her.


	6. The Morning After

Sam met Stuart in the corridor on the way to the bathroom, he looked slightly glazed and very shaky, but he was upright on his feet, and moving more or less under his own steam, which was a big relief.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I've been shot in the backside with a tranquillizer dart?"

"I was only asking." Sam felt a bit affronted.

"Well, that was the literal truth." Stuart leaned against the wall, his knees felt wobbly and his legs didn't seem to want to respond to the normal messages concerned with walking in a straight line, and the precise chain of events leading to his waking up in his own bed with the headache from hell and a large circular bruise on his thigh, were somewhat hazy.

"I remember the vet's place, but everything after that is a bit of a mystery."

Phil chose that moment to head to the bathroom, "Stuart... mate... you're okay."

Stuart glared, "Am I?"

"You don't remember?" Phil was about to make capital out of that, but caught the look on Sam's face... and somewhat shamefacedly confessed.

"I put my hand down on the vet's bench and accidently shot you in the thigh with his dart gun." Apologising to Stuart did not come easy, but Phil was determined to take on board what Jo had said to him, "Sorry mate."

Stuart couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, after all they'd been aggressive rivals since the day that Stuart had arrived at Sun Hill, but Phil was apologising, and one of Jo's many little homilies on the subject of them no longer being teenagers and would they grow up and stop competing had actually sunk in. He looked down, "it was an accident."

Phil had been about to brace himself for another aggressive response from Stuart, and was totally disarmed by the muted reply. The younger man wasn't looking too good either. When Stuart turned to try and get back to his room, he staggered, and automatically Phil stepped in to give him a hand.

Sam watched them go.

"I bet you thought you'd never see the day when those two would get on."

"Jo, I don't know what you've said to them, but I detect your fine Italian hand in this one."

"I merely suggested to each of them that most of the rest of us had had enough of this ridiculous competition, and since neither of them are six any more, perhaps they ought to exercise what we grown ups like to call self control."

Sam turned to look at her friend, Jo shrugged. "You know me, steps in where angels fear to tread."

She looked down the corridor, where Phil was supporting a wilting Stuart back to bed. "And it seems to have worked. Cream filled chocolate eclairs to me."

"No, a holiday in the Seychelles!"

They stood and watched Phil and Stuart a moment longer.

"God, I'm good!"

Sam smiled.

* * *

Harmony reigned. How long it was likely to last was anybody's guess, but Sam had the first good feeling about this operation that she'd had since it was first mentioned. Knowing that Jack Meadows thought of it in some ways as a kind of kill or cure for his two Sergeants' competitiveness she was relieved that the cure seemed to be working. She had thought that putting Phil and Stuart together was insane, but it seemed to be a work of genius.

Jo and Sam were clearing and restocking for opening time. Stuart was trying to cope with cleaning out the gents, and Phil was down in the cellar, swapping barrels.

Stuart was struggling, his legs still felt like they didn't belong to him, his whole body ached, his head was pounding and just occasionally he would look up and see three of everything. This was one of those occasions. He put out a hand blindly, to steady himself against the wall. His hand touched the rather ugly tile feature on the wall next to the stalls. A loud groaning noise rumbled up from somewhere, and a panel next to the tiling swung open.

Undecided whether the shock from the noise or the appearance of what looked like some sort of secret tunnel was going to do for him, Stuart took an uncertain step forward.

"Stuart?" Jo and Sam burst in, followed by Phil.

They stared at the dark space revealed by the panel.

"We need to take a look." Stuart peered into the gloom. "Get a torch somebody."

"Stuart, not now."

"Now's perfect." He looked round at Sam, "now's great."

Sam sighed. "Stuart, we open in ten minutes, now is not the time."

"Sam, we're detectives, and this needs detecting."

"Hun, the only thing you're going to be detecting for the next few hours is between the sheets of your bed." Jo stepped forward, putting a hand up to his cheek. He put up a shaky hand and clasped hers, turned his head and gently kissed her palm.

Phil stepped forward. "Stu, mate... how many fingers am I holding up?" He held up three fingers. Stuart closed an eye and squinted. "... without closing an eye so you can focus!" Phil put an arm firmly around Stuart's waist and started to guide him through the door. Stuart wanted to protest that he was fine, but he felt like hell. He let Phil guide him back up the stairs towards the bedrooms.

Phil got him as far as the bed and Jo took over. Pulled his boots off, struggled to undo his belt, and pull his jeans down, while Stuart shrugged out of his shirt. Leaving only his tee shirt and briefs. Stuart lay down, and Jo pulled the covers up.

She turned to go.

"Stay... please."

Jo wasn't proof against that plea, and she sat down next to him on the bed, gently stroking his hair, while he cuddled up against her thigh.

* * *

"It looks like it's just us."

Sam turned round, Phil was alone. Puzzled she frowned. He jerked a thumb skywards.

"He's feeling a lot worse than he's saying, so Jo stayed with him."

"So it's just us?"

Phil went round to unlock the doors. Put his hand on the key, turned back and winked at Sam, "Shall we?"

Sam warily eyed him, wondering just what he meant by that. Since she'd woken in his arms that morning, he'd been his charming, urbane self, totally disarming but elusive, and Sam just wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on in his mind. Well here was as good a place as any.


End file.
